


Product Placement

by ZombieBabs



Series: Behavioral Modification [3]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Gentle Dom!Alex, Humor, Light Dom/sub, Sub!Strand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieBabs/pseuds/ZombieBabs
Summary: Strand helps Alex record an advertisement for her podcast.





	Product Placement

**Author's Note:**

> Blatantly inspired by the painful, painful MeUndies advertisement in 3x01.

Richard Strand straightens the tablet on the table in front of him. 

He prefers paper. Ruby teases him, but he enjoys the weight of the morning newspaper in his hands. He has access to scientific, scholarly journals online, but he prefers to order them, to listen to the whisper of each page as he thumbs through them. If he could, if it were something tangible, Strand would wrap himself in the vanilla and almond scent of old books.

Paper makes noise, however. Noise which will have to be edited out later. To make their lives easier in the long run, Alex explains, they are using the tablet.

“Nervous?” Alex asks.

Strand laughs. “Of course not.”

Alex smiles. She knows him well enough to recognize the anxiety thrumming through him, just beneath his skin.

Before, he might have berated himself. For letting someone close. For letting _her_ close--close enough to read his nonverbal cues. Too close. But that was Before.

Alex bumps her shoulder into his. She sits close, the perpetual warmth she radiates a small comfort. “I can understand it, if you are. You’re not used to this sort of thing.”

“I assure you, I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Alex doesn’t move right away. She takes a second to look around the room. “I’m sorry I couldn’t book a different studio.” 

He glances at the corner of the small recording studio, Studio C, where he once sat folded in on himself, his mind blissfully quiet, the first time Alex placed him in Time Out. The memory isn’t unwelcome. “I don’t mind.”

“You sure? You can tell me if you do, I can try to rework the recording schedule, shuffle some things around.”

When Strand offers no objections, Alex smiles and squeezes his arm. “Okay. You ready?”

Strand nods.

Alex presses a button on her laptop and signals to Strand the session has started.

Strand looks at the lines of text on the tablet. It’s one thing to have Alex record their every conversation. It’s one thing when the subject matter is something familiar, something he’s spent a lifetime studying. It’s another thing completely to record a scripted advertisement.

Strand swallows. “Is this really necessary?”

Alex presses a key on her laptop, stopping the recording. “C’mon, don’t you think it’ll be fun?”

“I don’t see why--”

“Listeners _like_ you,” Alex says.

“I don’t think--”

“Please,” Alex says. She tilts her head and widens her eyes. It’s the same look Charlie would give him when she was a child. The same look which never failed to make him crumble.

Alex could force him. She could give him a direct order and he would obey. She could bring up the promise he made to her earlier, when she first asked him to record advertisements with her, could threaten to punish him for going back on it.

But she won’t.

Strand takes a breath. He’s taught seminars in front of crowds of students. He’s given talks at conferences with standing room only. He’s squared off with the likes of Tannis Braun and Emily DuMont on various panels on the paranormal, faced both their ridiculous claims and their petty personal attacks. Speaking into a microphone, with no one but Alex to witness him should he make a mistake? It shouldn’t be as monumental a task as he’s making it out to be.

“Alright,” he says. “Start the recording.”

Alex presses the button. She signals to Strand the recording has started.

Strand’s eyes skim to text on the tablet. He’s read through it enough times to have it memorized, by now. And yet…

“I’m concerned listeners may make assumptions based on the content of this advertisement.”

Alex laughs and stops the recording. “What do you mean?”

Strand gives her a look. “Casper mattresses?”

Expression very serious, Alex says, “They have just the right sink and just the right bounce.”

If he were another type of man, he might roll his eyes. As it is, it’s a close thing. “Yes, but _Casper_?”

“It’s really just a coincidence. I told you, almost every podcast out there does ads for Casper mattresses. It’s not because the Black Tapes is supposed to be spooky.”

“Allegedly spooky.”

Alex smiles. “Right, _allegedly_ spooky.”

Strand runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I apologize. I’m supposed to read from the script?”

“I’ve seen what happens when you try to improvise,” Alex says. She squeezes his arm, leaving her hand resting on the sleeve of his jacket. “I promise, you’ll be fine. We’ll be out of here in a couple of minutes.”

Strand places his hand over Alex’s. She turns her palm up and laces her fingers with his. For a moment, they sit just like that, still, quiet.

Strand shakes himself out of it. If he lets himself, he could lose himself in that single point of contact between them, could spend hours with only her hand in his to anchor himself. “We should continue.”

“I think you mean we should actually begin.”

Strand ducks his head with a breath of laughter. He straightens the tablet in front of him. “I’m ready.”

Alex starts the recording.

“Alex,” Strand says.

Alex beams at him. She doesn’t have to consult the script. She slips seamlessly into the advertisement as easily as she dives into any other interview. “Hey, Dr. Strand, what’s up?”

“I’d like to talk to you about...something.” 

Strand grimaces, but Alex gives him a thumbs-up. She doesn’t cut the recording. 

“What would you like to talk about?” she asks.

“Have you heard of Casper mattresses?”

“No,” Alex says. “What’s so great about Casper mattresses?”

It’s in the script. He knows she’s supposed to say it, to give him the opportunity to speak more about the company and the product they’re trying to sell. But hearing her say it throws him off. “Alex, this script doesn’t make sense. Of course you’ve heard of Casper mattresses. You’ve been doing advertisements for them since season one of your podcast. You have a Casper mattress at home.”

Alex’s eyes scrunch and her hand goes to her mouth to smother some of her laughter. “ _Richard_!”

Heat crawls up the back of his neck. He clears his throat. “I, of course, wouldn’t know anything about your home. Or your bedroom, for that matter.”

Alex makes a concentrated effort at regaining her composure. “We’ll, uh, we’ll edit that out. Just--one second.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out, settling back into professionalism. She waits a beat and repeats her last line. “What’s so great about Casper mattresses?”

Strand flounders for a brief second as he attempts to find their place in the script. “Casper mattresses are an award-winning mattress, obsessively engineered for your comfort. With four layers of supportive and breathable foams, Casper guarantees the perfect amount of sink with just the right bounce.”

Alex’s eyes sparkle. “With just the _right_ bounce?”

It takes him a moment, his eyes scanning the script, before he realizes. She’s gone off script. She’s _teasing_ him.

Quickly, he finds his place and continues, words all in a rush. “And with promo code--are you serious?--with promo code APOPHENIA you can receive ten percent off your order.”

“What about shipping?” Alex asks. She’s grinning. Enjoying his unease far too much.

Instead of anger, instead of annoyance, however, butterflies stir in his chest. A different sort of warmth spreads through him, a warmth he’s still not quite used to.

“Yes,” he says. He shifts in his seat. “Shipping. Shipping is free. And, if you decide, for whatever reason, you’re unhappy with your purchase, Casper will pick it up at no charge.”

“No charge? That’s great.”

“I--yes,” Strand says. “It should be a great deal for your listeners. Especially...especially--Alex, please. I would never recommend a mattress to those suffering from fear or anxiety, let alone as the direct effect of apophenia, but to look at the science--”

“Okay, okay,” Alex says, cutting him off before he can jump into what Ruby tends to call his ‘lecture mode.’ She’s still smiling, her eyes alight with her amusement. “I told our marketing guys it was a long shot.”

Strand frowns. “You didn’t write the script?”

“C’mon, Richard. I can be cheesy, but not _that_ cheesy. We have copywriters for this kind of thing.”

“I see,” Strand says. Thinking back to some of Alex’s previous advertisements, he can understand now why they felt so forced.

“I honestly think someone thought they were being funny.”

“Was it?” Strand looks at the tablet, the screen gone dark after sitting untouched. “Funny?”

Alex laughs. She scoots closer to him, pressing against him until they’re bodies are one long line of contact. “A little, yeah.”

Strand allows himself to smile. The butterflies in his chest shift and shiver.

Alex leans her head against his shoulder. After a moment, she asks. “Do you want to try again?”

Strand opens his mouth the argue, but can’t find it within himself to deny her.

Alex pulls back, searching his eyes. “Tell you what. If--and I mean _if--_ you want to give it another go, I’ll write the script. For another product entirely. What about socks? I know you like socks.”

Strand flexes his toes within his shoes. Alex likes to tease him about his tendency to walk around his father’s house in his socks. Most often when they’re tangled around each other, sweating and sated, naked except for his socks. “I do.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Strand nods. “If you write the script.”

“Good,” Alex says, the praise sending a shiver through him. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

He hesitates. He _wants_ , but he still doesn’t know how to ask. And Alex _won’t_ , not unless he does so. “May I--”

Alex licks her lips. Torturing him, perhaps, on purpose. “May you?”

“May I have a kiss?” He ducks his head, hiding his face from her. He trusts her. Implicitly. But still, he can’t look at her. “Please.”

The door to Studio C is locked. The light outside the door shines a bright red, indicating they are in the middle of recording. They are alone, not to be disturbed.

Alex takes his hand. She presses his knuckles to her lips. Her voice is husky. “Like this?”

Strand shudders.

He’ll take it, if that’s all she’s willing to offer him. He’ll take it and hoard it in the back of his mind, place it on a pedestal where he relive the moment, over and over again. 

He swallows, already embarrassed by his greed. “Yes, but--”

Alex raises her brows. “But?”

“I want--”

Alex waits.

‘I want to kiss you.”

Alex smiles, the corner of it lifted in something sly. She holds out her hand, like royalty. She isn’t wearing a ring on her pinky, but he brings it to his lips and kisses it all the same.

“Like that?” Alex asks.

Strand breathes out a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I am.”

“Please,” he says, not above begging. “Alex--”

She kisses him. Her fingers find their way into his hair and _pull_ , just the way he likes.

He sighs against her lips. His hands ache to touch, but he hasn’t yet been given permission. So he focuses on the slide of their lips, at the way they fit so perfectly together. At the way Alex’s teeth nip and her tongue teases, darting out just long enough to soothe away the sting.

Alex makes an unhappy sound and then pulls away.

Strand opens his eyes, reluctant to leave the moment behind.

“Later,” Alex promises. She leans in, brushing her lips close to the shell of his ear. “I want to see you all spread out on my Casper mattress, sobbing my name.”

Strand stiffens. In more than one way. He shifts, attempting to relieve some of the pressure in his slacks.

Alex pulls back with a laugh. 

She returns to her laptop, clicking through programs, closing them, giving him time to recover. She snaps it shut and gives him an inquisitive look.

Outside of the recording studio, they will be back to being colleagues. They’ll walk close, but not too close. They’ll sit on either side of Alex’s desk, discussing his Black Tapes and her podcast and how they fit together. He’s reluctant to leave, but Alex’s promise of _Later_ is enough to motivate him to stand.

She picks up her laptop and follows him to the door. Just as his hand brushes the handle, Alex says, “If you thought mattresses were fun, just wait until you hear about our new sponsor.”

Strand opens the door, stepping back to allow Alex to exit first. “Who?”

Alex grins. “MeUndies.” 

“Me- _what?_ ”

Alex laughs the rest of the way back to her office.


End file.
